


Amidst the Chaos

by BlurglesmurfKlaine



Category: Glee
Genre: (????), Angst, M/M, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Romance, Secret Identity, bold of you to assume i know what the fuck to tag this as, im flying blind, so much angst im so fucking sorry, warnings for Seblaine being a hella unhealthy relationship, witsec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlurglesmurfKlaine/pseuds/BlurglesmurfKlaine
Summary: Kurt Hummel dies just before his Junior year of high school. He doesn't win Nationals with his childhood best friend Blaine Anderson and the rest of the New Directions. He doesn't get to slow dance with anybody at prom. He doesn't audition for NYADA.Kurt Hummel is no longer Kurt Hummel.At least until Blaine spots him on the New York subway, seven years later.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Brief Seblaine - Relationship
Comments: 53
Kudos: 90





	1. Fire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: listen I know fuckall about the FBI so like this is all a shot in the dark, and anyway this story isn’t really even *about* that? Don’t ask me what it IS about though bc I probably couldn’t tell you, I’m here for the gay and the drama I saw a YouTube video over a year ago and it sparked this idea and I’ve been wanting to do it for so long but I’m pretty sure this is gonna be a hot damn mess so here the fuck we are I am DOING MY BEST
> 
> Admittedly, I am not very far ahead in this story as not only am I the world's slowest writer but I am also a busy bitch. So I honestly don't know when I'll be updating next but ON GOD I AM GONNA FINISH THIS! In fact, that's why I'm posting it now on a whim lmao. i felt like if i //didn't// post it, then it would end up like so many other abandoned, non-posted projects and I truly do not want that for this story.
> 
> The title (and many themes and inspiration) for this fic comes from Sara Bareille's album _Amidst the Chaos_. Not to overshare on main but this album got me through one of the lowest points of my life, which was right before I came back to the glee fandom last year. Each chapter will be named after a song on that album and i'll be including links to it so y'all should give them a listen if you want because it's truly just such an amazing album.
> 
> This story is also just very different from anything I've ever written and I think that's why I get so intimidated by it, but it's a story I'm committed to finishing!
> 
> Alright sorry for the whole ass essay but HERE WE GO! Enjoy :)

**1\. Fire**

_ When the spade shows up, I call it by its first name. _ _  
_ [ _ x _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuouqKN7kLo)

_ New York, NY—Present Day _

_ Table five—sriracha sauce,  _ he thinks to himself. 

_ Head to the kitchen and get some from the back since we’re out in the front, don’t forget that table six asked for extra napkins a minute ago. When you’re done with that, table four needs to be bussed and wiped down which you know, isn’t even  _ your _ job but you know Alex isn’t gonna get his lazy ass up and—fuck, table three needs their drink orders taken. _

Kurt makes his way over to said table, dropping off some napkins at table six on his way, and jots down their drinks on his notepad. They ask for a side of ranch, too. He quickly brings it to them. Just as he’s finishing up bussing table four his manager calls out to him. 

“Bingham!” Kurt practically jolts at his last name being barked out. 

“Yes?” He sighs, not even looking up at Dani while he gives the table a final wipe down.

“You’re nearly two hours into overtime,” she scolds. “You gotta clock out, owner’ll have my ass if I don’t kick you out.”

Some days, Kurt fights to at least be allowed to finish taking care of the last table he’s seated; living in New York isn’t cheap, and he could really use the money. Especially since his douchebag roommate quit his job as well as paying up his half of the rent on time. 

Today, he figures, isn’t one of those days. He’s too tired and he’s got an early morning shift at Russo’s the next day. He heeds her advice and heads to the register to clock out. 

The bike ride home is his favorite part of his day. He takes comfort in it being the only familiar thing since he’s moved to the city. Eight blocks straight, make a right, hold your breath for about 15 seconds if you can because of that unbearable stench from an unknown source, make a left—stop by for a soft pretzel from Emilio’s hot dog stand, always—three more blocks and he’s home. He could make this ride with his eyes closed.

As quickly as it comes, his bliss is dissolved when he gets to his apartment. He hears the sound of Family Guy playing on the TV and doesn’t even need to look at the sink to know that the dishes from a week ago still aren’t done. 

“Dishes.” He grumbles. He knows it’s in vain, but he says it out of routine more than anything. 

He turns to toss his keys on the counter and a white paper with obnoxious red bold lettering catches his eyes. He snatches the paper up and reads it, growing more and more furious with every word.

He marches over to Eli and shoves the eviction notice in his face. “What the hell is this?” He demands, outraged. “You said you were gonna be late on the rent, not  _ stop _ paying it!”

The younger boy looks unbothered as he shrugs and pops a handful of chips in his mouth, eyes never leaving the TV. “I am late, just like, three months late.” He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, I’ll just move back in with my parents.”

The pure rage bubbling inside of Kurt begins to metamorphosize into panic, something that’s happened all too often since the move from Lima. 

Before he can completely fall apart, he crumples the paper and throws it hard against Eli’s head. Childish, but it does have a cathartic effect. “Not everyone has that option, you imbecile!”

He whips around and storms off into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Before he sinks to the ground and hugs his knees, he sets a timer for three minutes. That’s how long he gives himself to freak out before getting up and doing something about it. 

_ You’re gonna be homeless, Hummel. Everyone said you’d never make it in the big city, and all you did was go and prove them right by moving in with the first idiot who posted a sign at the first coffee shop you visited. You’re so much smarter than this, what happened? How did you get stuck with a waste of human life like this asshole? _

_ You should call dad. You only get two phone calls a year, and I‘m pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency.  _

_ What if he freaks out? You don’t want to stress him out, especially since he can’t do anything about it, all he can do is worry. You’re not there to keep him healthy or to calm him down. He could easily have another heart attack if you bother him too much. Besides, if you use one phone call now, you won’t be able to call him on both Thanksgiving and Christmas— _

His racing mind is immediately silenced by the sound of his alarm going off. It took years of training, but whenever he hears the chiming of his ringtone, his brain goes quiet for a few blissful moments.

He wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls himself up, deciding that he’s going to be one of those idiots that posts a sign on a coffee shop bulletin board. He heads to his computer and quickly designs a flyer that reads “Need a roommate? Good, I need a room, because my current roomie is a giant dick.”

He grunts angrily, deletes the second part, and adds his contact information. He’ll head to the public library and print out a couple of copies tomorrow, but right now, he really needs to sleep.

He crawls into bed after his extensive night skin care routine and finally closes his eyes. 

Sweet relief.

They shoot open just before he’s able to drift off to sleep. 

_ Table five never got their  _ fucking  _ sriracha. _

* * *

_ Ashland, MO—7 Years Ago _

Kurt looks out the window to the right of him, wishing he had been able to stay asleep the entire plane ride. At least it’s almost over.

He’s never been on an airplane before, and in any other situation, he would be absolutely thrilled. 

He never thought he would, but Kurt misses Lima. He misses the New Directions. He misses Blaine more than anyone else.

“Enjoying the view?” his dad asks from the seat next to him.

“Yeah,” Kurt says back mockingly. “I think we just passed a field. Oh, look! Another field! And if I angle my head just so, I think I can see another field. Oh, happy day!”

Burt purses his lips. “I get it, you’re allowed to be upset. I am, too. I know it’s not New York, or Chicago, or anywhere fancy, but this little cow town is where they thought we’d be safest.”

_ “Lima _ was a cow town,” Kurt corrects his dad. “This place is a  _ one _ cow town, and everybody takes turns milking it.”

He’s being meaner, snarkier, than he should be, but it’s so much easier than letting himself come apart at the thought of everything he’d lost. He feels kind of like a dick for it, knowing that the alternative was risking his dad’s life, but he misses Lima. Even if he never intended to spend the rest of his life there, he at least wanted to walk across the stage alongside the rest of his friends. 

He was supposed to spend the next two years with the rest of the New Directions, performing at Prom, finally kicking Vocal Adrenaline’s ass at Nationals. The next two summers, at least, were supposed to be spent with him flying down the highway with the windows rolled down because he loves the way it unravels Blaine’s normally cemented down curls. These precious, precious years were supposed to be spent with the people he loves, his best friend (who now, he’ll never get a chance to tell how he feels), his annoying but well meaning show choir director, and Rachel “the bane of my existence” Berry.

One careless mistake from one of his dad’s clients, and Kurt suddenly found himself robbed of it all.

Burt had been working on a new client’s car—someone who had just moved in a few weeks ago—and found some strange documents and photos in the glove compartment. It was just enough to be suspicious, so he turned it in to the local police.

It all happened so fast from there. 

Within a day, the FBI was alerted. Apparently, Burt’s new client had been on their radar for drug trafficking for quite some time, but they never had enough evidence to pin him down. Now they did.

Just like that, Kurt had been ushered out of his home, told to pack lightly and not let anyone know where they were going.

Just like that, Kurt Hummel was gone.

Once they’ve landed at the ridiculously small airport, they’re ushered into a white windowless van (Kurt doesn’t think the FBI could be any more of a cliche) and drive for another forty five minutes.

Finally, they’re dropped off in front of an unassuming house in an unassuming neighborhood. Remarkably unremarkable, which he supposes is the point.

“Welcome home,” the agent says as she escorts them in.

There’s no missing shingle on the left side of the roof from where one of the neighbor’s overhanging tree branches fell on it while he and an eight year old Blaine were having one of their midsummer tea-parties, and they’d both screamed bloody murder at the giant crack it made. The living room carpet isn't stained from the time his mom let him stay up to watch the ball drop on New Year’s Eve, but he’d been so tired, the grape juice he’d been sipping slipped right from his hands as he dozed off. The coffee table doesn’t have a chip in it from a few weeks ago, when Mike brought his Wii so they could play Just Dance and Kurt had  _ told  _ Finn to watch out for his surroundings, in vain apparently.

There’s no McKinley, no Rachel, no Mercedes, no Finn.

No Blaine.

_ This, _ Kurt thinks,  _ will never be home. _

* * *

_ New York, NY—Present Day _

Blaine sees Kurt all the time, but it gets more frequent and intense around the anniversary of his death. Shadows at his window, a particularly pale stranger at the grocery store. At one point, just after the Hummels’ accident, he was even convinced that he was being haunted by his best friend’s ghost.

Mrs. Pillsbury had told him that was a normal symptom of grief.  _ Oftentimes we see what we want to see,  _ she’d said. That made a lot of sense to Blaine. At least, a hell of a lot more sense than his best friend coming back from the dead. 

When he does see Kurt—or a version of him, at least—sitting on the subway, legs crossed and deeply invested in what seems to be a Vogue magazine, he’s not all that surprised. He just shuts his eyes and grips the pole he’s holding onto for balance tighter, knowing when he opens his eyes, the manifestation of his childhood trauma will be gone.

He opens his eyes, and Kurt is still there. 

The bottom drops out from beneath Blaine, the same rug pulled out from under him feeling he gets when he’s trying to fall asleep and his body decides to check if he’s still alive. Blaine isn’t completely sure he is, considering he can’t feel his own heartbeat. Considering he’s staring at someone who’s been dead for seven years.

Kurt  _ (No, not Kurt. Don’t go there. It’s not him. It cannot be him. You’ve been through this.) _ is standing up now, and heading for the door, but he’s  _ still there. _ This is the first time in seven years that he’s opened his eyes and Kurt isn’t gone. 

He opens his mouth, dryer than it was a moment ago, to call out his name. The moment Blaine stands up though, the blood drains from his face and his head goes dizzy. Standing up that quickly is not a good idea, apparently, but he can’t think straight. Not when the subway doors are opening and Kurt-but-not-Kurt is up out of his seat and heading towards the doors.

This is not Blaine’s stop, but he clambers clumsily through the sea of New Yorkers, to try and make it to the nearest exit, never tearing his eyes off of the familiar figure because if he does… He might just disappear on him again.

He finally makes it onto the platform, having only taken his eyes off of Kurt to ensure he didn’t get his leg caught between the train and edge of the platform.

He looks up again, to his right, where Kurt—

_ It has to be Kurt. I’d know him anywhere. _

_ But it isn't. It can’t be. _

—should have been standing. All he sees, though, is a crowd of busy New Yorkers like he would any other day. 

Heart still beating like a hummingbird’s wings, he whips out his phone and dials Rachel’s number with trembling fingers. His thumb hovers over the call button for a moment before he decides against it.

What Blaine just saw was one-hundred percent real. He’s sure of it.

He sees Kurt all the fucking time, especially near the anniversary of his death.

This time, he  _ felt  _ him.

What can he do, though? Who the hell can he tell? 

Nobody believed him last time. 

* * *

_ Lima, OH—7 Years Ago _

“Dammit, Finn!” Kurt scolds. “I  _ told  _ you to be careful!”

“To be fair,” Puck replies with a smirk. “We should have never let Hudson here anywhere near a dancing game.”

“And I should have never let you anywhere near my girlfriend last year but you don’t hear me bringing that up now, do you?” Finn claps back. 

“Touche.”

Blaine watches as Kurt grumbles something under his breath about finding a wood stain marker and heads to the kitchen, presumably to look for one. It isn’t Blaine’s turn for another three rounds, so he hoists himself up from his place on the carpet and follows Kurt to the kitchen, earning a side-eye from Quinn.

Ignoring her judgement, he heads to the kitchen and finds Kurt rummaging through the drawers for the paint pen. “God, why can’t I ever find anything in this god forsaken house?”

“You’ll never find it if you’re in a bad mood. Things you’re looking for can sense things like that.”

“I wouldn’t be in a bad mood if  _ somebody  _ wasn’t such a—a boisterous blundering buffoon!”

Blaine bites back a smile. Even when Kurt is riled up, he’s still absolutely adorable. “Okay, you’re using alliteration, now I can tell you’re  _ really  _ mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Kurt huffs, abandoning his crusade to turn around and glare at Blaine. “I don’t get mad. I’m the fucking epitome of grace.”

He scrunches up his face with just enough condescension to be convincing. He knows Kurt. They’ve been best friends since third grade, when Gretchen Keller poured glitter all over a very distressed Blaine’s Valentine’s Day project. Kurt had come up to him, offered him a pack of kleenex from his back pocket, and helped him salvage the (now very shiny) card that read “Some-bunny loves you”.

Blaine has been enamored with Kurt ever since then.

“Well, at the very least, you’re annoyed.”

The tension slides off of Kurt’s shoulder. “Ugh, I was, I guess. There’s only a few more days left of summer and I don’t want to spend them grounded for chipping the coffee table because Finn can’t control his extremities.”

“Your dad isn’t ruthless, Kurt,” Blaine assures him. “He’s not going to take away the last few days of the summer before your Junior year. Besides, it was an accident.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Kurt lets out a relieved sigh. “Why are you so good to me?”

“Someone should be.” Blaine is busy shyly ducking his head that he completely misses the way Kurt’s cheeks pinken at his words. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep you from ripping Finn a new one.”

Kurt has a tendency to work himself up, but after knowing Kurt for the better part of a decade, Blaine has winding him down to an art; he’s calmer now, less anxious about the minor incident that Blaine knows seemed huge to his best friend.

With a little puff of air, Kurt waves a dismissive hand. “No need to worry about that. I love the big lug.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, has your crush resurfaced?”

Kurt rests a palm on his face, letting out a puff of air in a sort of laugh. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Blaine’s shoulder.

It’s something he does all the time, but Blaine can’t help the hitch in his throat, or notice that Kurt has to lean down just a little further than he used to. A year ago, just before the New Directions came to be the eclectic group they know and love, Blaine easily had a few inches on him. Towards the end of May, he couldn’t help but notice the top of Kurt’s head starting to line up with his own, the way his shoulders had broadened ever so slightly, filling out the Cheerios uniform in a way it wouldn’t have back in September.

But no matter how much their lives or bodies shift, the way he feels about Kurt stays constant. The fluttering in his stomach, the pull in his chest when their eyes meet—it never changes. 

Blaine honestly doesn’t think it ever will.

“Am I ever going to live that one down?” Kurt mumbles forlornly against Blaine’s neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He has to ignore the palpitations in his heart in order to respond. “Not as long as you live.” He gives Kurt a pat on his back and reels him in for a hug, clutching him close and inhaling the scent of his best friend’s hair—the coconut shampoo he uses mixed with a hint of the organic hairspray he’s so fond of. 

It would be so easy to stay like this forever. Just hold Kurt in his arms, press a gentle kiss to his lips. They hold hands all the time, but Blaine wants more than that. He wants it to  _ mean _ more than what they already have. 

But how can he tell his lifelong best friend that he’s in love with him without risking everything?

What he has with Kurt is the one of the most emotionally intimate things he’s ever experienced. They know each other from the inside out. They each know the inner workings of the other’s brain, how to bring sunshine back into their world when no one else is able to clear the clouds. 

If Blaine screws up or if Kurt doesn’t feel the same, he could lose the relationship he so dearly cherishes. 

That’s the one thing he’s not willing to risk.

“Hummel, will you take a break from macking on your side-kick for one second so I can kick Anderson’s ass on Rasputin?” Santana heckles from the living room, one hand on her hip and the other waving a wii controller expectantly.

Kurt shoots her a fierce glare, face burning red as Blaine ducks his head and chuckles softly. As they rejoin the rest of the group in the living room, Blaine can’t keep back a grin as he watches Kurt settle in the couch between Finn and Mercedes, Finn trying to rope Kurt into a bear hug and Mercedes uselessly watching on, snapping pictures with her phone.

If he’s lucky, Kurt Hummel is going to be in his life for a long, long time.

In a few weeks, his luck runs out.

* * *

_ New York, NY—Present Day _

“Anderson… Anderson… Blaine!”

Dr. Bexar’s stern voice yanks him back to the here and now, startling him just enough that his cheeks go red. “S-sorry,” he stammers. “What was the question?” 

His Form & Analysis professor raises an eyebrow. “I was asking you to read aloud your definition of sentence structure… If you have one written down?”

Blaine looks down at his empty notebook of staff paper, stomach twisting guiltily. “I um… must have missed it,” he sheepishly admits.

Dr. Bexar purses his lips, tan forehead creasing in his disappointment, and acknowledges someone else to answer the question. Blaine makes a valiant effort to keep his focus for the rest of class, but all he can think about is that man he saw on the subway the other day… Kurt.

Every time he blinks, the image of Kurt is waiting for him, just behind his eyelids. Every moment—spare or not—is spent wondering if that could really be him, and every other moment is spent talking himself down and trying to be logical about all this because it could not have been Kurt. 

Even if it felt like him.

Bexar dismisses them from class, and Blaine turns in the assignment from the last class on his way out. 

“And the essay portion?”

Blaine winces, pressing a hand to his face and dragging it down before silently cursing himself. Last night he’d gone through several old photos of him and Kurt that he never could quite bring himself to delete, trying to convince himself that the stranger on the subway bore no resemblance.

“I-I am so sorry, Dr. Bexar, I didn’t get to finish it last night. I will email it as soon as I get home, I know it’s going to be an extra thirty points off for being late—”

His teacher holds his hands down in a calming motion. “Hold on, now. Calm down.” Blaine sucks in a breath, as if that’s the only way he can get himself to stop talking. “It’s fine. This is the third semester I’ve had you in one of my classes, I know you would have turned it in if you could. Is everything alright? This isn’t like you.”

His throat goes hard. “Yeah, I’m fine I just…” Letting his eyes close down, he draws in a big breath and lets it out slowly. The pressure building up in the bridge of his nose warns him of the tears forming behind his eyes, and he pinches the area. He hasn’t cried over this in  _ years, _ he will  _ not  _ cry today. “It’s the anniversary of the death of a friend and—”

“Say no more,” his professor cuts him off. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Call your family, grab a cup of tea. As long as you get that essay to me by the end of the week, I won’t take off any extra points. We got ourselves a deal?”

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Blaine nods gratefully and exits the room. On his way back to his pitifully empty apartment, he calls his mom. They make small talk for a bit—they’re expecting a storm in Lima. Blaine’s piano proficiency exam has been scheduled for mid October. Cooper met a famous tennis player while he was an extra on the set of a sitcom. Little things like that. He’s careful not to bring up anything Kurt-related, trying to remind himself that he’s grateful for what he still does have.

When he hangs up, he already feels much better. As he passes a little cafe he’s seen before but never stopped by, he pauses.

Now’s as good a time as any to grab that cup of tea.

* * *

His lower back is aching and legs are still burning from delivering on his bike all damn day, but Kurt’s worked longer shifts than the six hour one he just came off of, so he figures he might as well put up some more flyers. 

It’s not typical for someone to post that they need a place to stay, but Kurt’s beyond desperate and will be homeless in thirty days if he doesn’t find a suitable place to live soon. Besides, when he goes to the various bulletin board hot spots—the NYU Student Union Building, local gyms, every coffee shop within a ten mile radius—there are often plenty of roommate wanted notices posted, so Kurt’s been holding onto as many of those as he can.

After stationing his bike outside his building, he starts heading down the sidewalk. Yes, his bike would probably be quicker, but his ass is way too sore from the uncomfortable seat to stay on it for even another second. A few blocks into his stroll, after putting up a few flyers on some posts, he comes across a little cafe he’s certainly never been in before.

It’s worth a try, he decides, and heads in to ask the manager if he can post on the bulletin board by the back corner. He’s only got one left, anyways. She agrees.

With one final, accentuated jab at a bulletin board, Kurt finishes pinning up the last of his flyers. He scans the rest of the board too, hoping to find a roommate wanted poster that seems like it was made by somebody sane and responsible enough.

He releases a satisfying breath from his lungs that always comes with finishing off a task.

“Kurt?”

A voice calls to him from behind, and his entire body flashes hot then freezing cold as the air from his lungs is knocked right out of him. 

He knows that voice. It’s a little older now, a little deeper and rougher at the edges, but he  _ knows _ that voice. 

It’s the same voice that sang to him to sleep through the phone every night the year his mom died. The one that even at the ripe old age of sixteen tried to imitate every character’s voice in every single Disney movie they’d seen growing up.

One he thought he’d never hear again.

Mouth and throat dry, and hands clammy, he somehow manages to turn around. 

“Kurt Hummel?”

Blaine is staring back at him with wide eyes, disbelief etched into every inch of his still so beautiful face. 

Kurt’s stomach goes small and he starts to feel lightheaded with panic. It takes entirely too much effort to keep his eyes focused on anything, so despite his best efforts, the corners of his vision start to blur with blotches of purple.

And then it all goes black.


	2. No Such Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: omg i just want to start by saying that the response to this story has been SO INSANELY POSITIVE AND OVERWHELMING (in a good way!!!!) and I'm truly in awe of how many people actually read it and left comments because again, this is definitely not like my usual stuff and I wasn't expecting this big of a reaction tbh!
> 
> so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU a million times over to those of you who left comments on the first chapter I really appreciate it so so much!
> 
> Again, I'm sorry I don't have a solid posting schedule and that this second chapter took so long to post, but I hope you enjoy this one :)

**2\. No Such Thing**

_I feel you, it's like you're in the next room  
At any given moment, you could reappear.  
[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZeDOXkM44c) _

* * *

_Lima, OH—7 Years Ago_

The world explodes into thick, suffocating white noise when Blaine first hears the news. Swirling around his mind, foggy and distant, are the words everyone keeps telling him but he can’t quite believe.

_There’s been an accident._

_The Hummels are gone._

_It was quick and instantaneous._

_They didn’t suffer._

Except none of it is true. It can’t be true. 

He and Kurt are supposed to grow old together, one way or another, graduate together, make it out of Lima together. One freak car accident can’t suddenly erase all of the plans they had.

Blaine has felt a tether to Kurt since the day they met. The day his mom died, Blaine begged his parents to go over, before he even knew what happened. All he really _knew_ was that Kurt needed him.

But the day the police said the accident happened, Blaine didn’t feel anything. He’d woken up, gone to church with his mother, then piano lessons, just like he always did, without feeling even a tremor. 

Kurt can’t be gone.

The first week after he gets the news, Blaine sets his backpack on the empty chair next to him in the choir room, barely able to focus on learning their set list, as if Kurt will walk right in and announce how sorry he is that he's late, but RueLaLa was having a once in a lifetime sale he just _couldn’t_ miss.

He can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Kurt isn’t gone. He can still feel him out there.

How can he be gone?

The next week, Blaine spends hours upon hours going through Kurt’s Facebook page. It’s still up, and he doesn’t know how much longer it will be, so he saves every photo he ever posted and saves screenshots of his favorite posts onto his laptop. The one that makes him smile the most is one that reads, “I should be asleep, but @Blaine Anderson keeps sending me compilations of talking animals. If you were really my best friend you’d have mercy and let me rest!”

He’s in the middle of highlighting it with the screenshot software he downloaded earlier when he hears the little _bloop_ of Facebook messenger. He intends to only give it a quick glance before turning his attention back to the task at hand, but the green dot next to his most recent thread forces him to do a double take.

_Kurt Hummel is Online._

He scrambles to open the messages, and as soon as he does the three little bubbles that indicate someone on the other end is typing pop up.

Blaine’s heart stops in his chest and his throat goes so dry so fast. He waits eagerly, watching them ripple up and down in anticipation. 

As quickly as they were there, they’re gone. But now Blaine knows Kurt’s out there, just like he thought he was. 

Kurt is still alive.

* * *

“He’s alive,” is the first thing he tells Quinn when he sees her the next day. 

She responds by furrowing her eyebrows and Blaine doesn’t even give her time to respond before taking off at a million miles a minute.

“Well, at least, I _think_ he is. I was on his Facebook page last night and I saw the notification that he was online. I clicked on it and I saw the typing bubbles—someone was there, Q, just on the other end of the screen.”

“Wh-who?” she finally asks, taken aback by his sudden mania. 

“Kurt,” he breathes out. 

Her face falls, glossed over with an almost condescending sympathy. Blaine deflates. “What?”

“I just want to know what brought on this sudden… revelation,” she carefully prods at the subject. 

“I just told you, I was on facebook, and I _saw_ him.” 

“The bubbles?” He sees the worried way her eyebrows meet in the middle, the fear in her eyes, and wonders if he’s made a mistake.

“I… I know this might sound a little crazy to you, but I know what I felt, Quinn. I don’t know exactly what it is, but… It’s something.” 

_It’s all I have left of him._

It takes her a moment, but she eventually replies. “N-no,” she responds. “I… I believe you.”

Blaine grins and tackles her in a hug, lighting up from the inside out. If her smile is a little uneasy—just the tiniest bit more unsettled than usual—Blaine is too swept up in his euphoria to notice.

* * *

_New York, NY—Present Day_

Blaine places the warm cup of tea in Kurt’s still trembling hands, grateful he’d bought it, even though he hadn’t ended up being the one who needed it.

He’d been so overwhelmed he passed out right in the middle of the coffee shop, Blaine crying out his name in horror as he collapsed to the floor.

A woman had yelped and immediately called for a barista while a father quickly scooped up his eager to help but definitely in the way daughter. At the rest of the patron’s reactions, the first thing that crossed Blaine’s mind was _Oh thank god. They see him, too._

He’d never left Kurt’s side, stroking his thumb while one of the workers brought a pillow to prop his legs up on. When she asked Blaine if he knew Kurt, all he could do was snap his head up at her and stare open mouthed. _I did seven years ago._

Kurt had come to seconds after that, thanking those who’d helped and insisting he was fine. One look into Kurt’s familiar eyes and Blaine saw the same glimmer of recognition that was surely in his own. Just like that, every suspicion Blaine held ever since that day in the subway was confirmed. 

Somehow, he’d managed to convince an unusually skittish Kurt to come back to his apartment so they could talk. Which led them here.

“Thank you,” Kurt whispers weakly, still not able to meet Blaine’s gaze again. He doesn’t drink from it right away, just runs his hands around it nervously. “I assume you would like an explanation,” he guesses, eyes still trained on the mug.

“Seven years,” is all Blaine manages to get out. Kurt winces at the words even though Blaine’s tone isn’t accusatory. “I… thought you were dead for seven years, Kurt.”

At the sound of his name, he finally looks up at Blaine, eyes alight in a way they weren’t before. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I just… I accepted that I’d lost you.”

“Where have you _been?”_

Kurt flicks his gaze down to the cup then back up to Blaine, worrying his lip between his teeth. He watches Kurt’s throat clench as he swallows nervously, the quickening pace of his rising and falling chest, and immediately regrets his prying; he has no idea what the hell Kurt has been through these past few years.

“Sorry,” Blaine says quietly. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling one final stabilizing breath through his nose. To anyone else, it would look like he’s simply taking in the scent of his chamomile tea, but Blaine knows better. Kurt’s always been very good at hiding his emotions, keeping a collected front up.

“Witness protection program,” he finally croaks out.

Blaine sits still in his chair, stunned into silence and processing the words he just heard. Kurt must take his silence as a cue to continue.

“One of my dad’s clients left some questionable stuff in his car. It all happened so fast. I was Kurt Hummel one day and James Bingham the next.”

“James Bingham?” Blaine asks in wonder. It’s strange, having the image of Kurt being called by another name. He’s always been so undeniably _Kurt._

Kurt nods and digs something out of his back pocket. He pulls his license out and hands it to Blaine. There it is, Kurt’s face on an official piece of plastic, but not Kurt’s name. “That’s what it says on my degree, too.”

He snaps his head back up at Kurt, unable to contain the wide grin from spreading on his face. “You went to college?”

Kurt seems almost offended, a haughty air about him that wasn’t there a second ago. “Are you surprised I got in?”

Blaine doesn’t even try to stifle his laugh or keep the tears forming in his eyes at bay. _This_ is the Kurt he once knew. And he’s real and here and _alive._

“No,” he manages even though his face is crumpling. Kurt’s face is worried now, and he grips his cup noticeably tighter. “You were always too smart for Lima. I just… You went to college. I spent so long mourning the fact that you never got to…” He wipes at his eyes, realizing how dramatic he must be acting. “Sorry,” he mumbles with a sniff.

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, and it’s all Blaine needs to feel as solid as he needs to be right now. “Where did you go to school?” he asks after a few moments of surprisingly comfortable silence. 

Blaine barks out a startling laugh. “Um, that’s uh… In progress,” he admits. Rachel has told him time and time again that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about (and then she usually rants for an hour about the correlation between his academic shortcomings and Sebastian’s involvement in his life) but he still can’t help the twinge of shame every time it comes up. “I had gotten into NYADA—this pretty prestigious performing arts school—a couple years back but I… I blew it. Got too distracted with… life, my ex. I graduate in May from NYU with my Bachelor’s in music.”

Kurt’s mouth twitches. “Music,” he muses. “I really, really love that for you.”

“Thanks,” Blaine smiles back. “It was uh, actually Rachel who pushed me to come back to New York and apply to NYU. I had ended up back in Lima a couple years ago and was planning to just go to Lima Community for a communications degree or something.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up. “Rachel as in Rachel Barbra Berry?”

Blaine ducks his head. “Yeah. She’s actually kind of my best friend.”

“I bet Quinn has words to say about that.”

The comment, although innocent, stings. He actually flinches. “We… we’re actually, uh, not friends anymore.”

Kurt’s lips make a soft O, though no sound comes out. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he eventually says. "I know you two were close."

Blaine hasn’t thought about Quinn in quite some time; he knows the guilt will eat right through him if he does. He’s pretty certain after so long she wouldn’t want to see him anyways, not after the way he left things with her. Not after he left her alone the way he did. So he pushes down the memories of all the awful things he said to her and shakes his head. 

“It’s probably for the best,” he lies, trying to shake the memories of Quinn in her skank outfit, in her wheelchair, all the things he let her deal with on her own because he couldn’t swallow his pride and apologize. “None of it matters now… I… I always knew you were out there, somewhere. I could feel you. I know that sounds so neurotic. Maybe I am,” he huffs out a laugh. “Maybe this is one massive hallucination—”

He’s cut off when Kurt rests a gentle hand on his thigh, breath catching in his dry throat. He swallows and looks up at Kurt, their eyes locking. 

“I’m just as real as you are.”

* * *

_Ashland, MO—7 Years Ago_

It’s easily the stupidest, most impulsive thing Kurt has ever done.

The FBI took all of his old belongings, including his laptop (he wasn’t even allowed to keep his only copy of the McKinley Thunderclap, the one with what was now the only picture he’d ever take with the New Directions).

But he still has his Facebook login and password memorized.

Try as he might, he just can’t let go. It starts off simple enough, just a few minutes when he gets home from school everyday, scrolling through the posts of friends who have likely forgotten him, but he will never forget.

After a few days, though, he becomes addicted to the nostalgia—the feeling of absolute joy and belonging when he was amongst friends that resurfaces when he sees the yearbook photo that almost never was. It’s a painful escape. Looking back on these memories is like peeking into a world built in technicolor for a few seconds, while the knowlege that he'll have to live in the dull monochrome of gray for the rest of his life breathes down his neck. And yet, Kurt still can’t seem to stop his fingers from clicking away and logging on every night until minutes become hours and his eyelids are so, _so_ heavy. 

He’s flipping through his uploaded photos when he comes across a picture of him and Blaine, shoulder to shoulder and absolutely beaming. The caption reads: _They say once you’re friends with someone for seven years, you’ll be friends for life. @Blaine Anderson, to all the adventures we’ve had, and the many to come. I couldn’t ask for a better partner in crime._

Friends for life.

The lump in Kurt’s throat feels more like a jagged rock, cutting into his flesh in an attempt to hold back tears. In a moment of absolute desperation, he opens his messages and goes to his and Blaine’s thread, fingers flying across the keyboard.

_I miss you so much._

His fingers hover daringly over the enter button, knowing damn well they can never press send. This isn’t the first time he’s typed out a message to Blaine, but it’s the first time he’s so seriously considered it.

A high pinging noise breaks him from his temptation, and simultaneously, his heart flutters with hope and a certain type of dread seeps into his bones.

_Kurt? Are you there?_

The glowing green dot stares tauntingly back at Kurt, a silent but intimidating reminder that someone (not someone, _Blaine)_ is on the other end, eagerly awaiting a response. Within seconds, something overcomes him, and the sharp clacking sounds of his fingers on the keyboard brings to his attention that he’s actually typing out a message.

_I’m here, Blaine. Come find me._

He stares at the enter button, his gaze boring into it as if that alone could untangle the situation, turn back the tables of time and allow Kurt to return home. As if he could justify putting his own life in danger—putting his dad’s life in danger—by leaving real, tangible, digital evidence of his survival. 

Kurt’s throat is still tense as a tightrope, and inside he feels just as precariously balanced. But the reminder that Blaine is out there, waiting, and has hope—it’s all the weight it takes to send him crashing down.

He doesn’t send the message, but he does steal away out of his room, get in his car, and drive.

* * *

An hour into the commute, and Kurt’s heart still hasn’t stopped pounding like a ten ton hammer. By now, it definitely should have calmed down, but between the idea of seeing Blaine again and the fear of being caught by his case manager, he can’t seem to calm down.

Logistics aren’t important. The only thing that matters is in a few hours, he’ll see Blaine again. They’ll be together, the way they’re _supposed_ to be.

The thought of being with his dear friend again, wrapping his arms around him in a loving hug, being with him, is the only thing that occupies any of Kurt’s brain space for the drive.

And then he sees the flashing red and blue lights turn on behind him.

The panic first comes as a flash of cold all over his body, then collects in his face, making him feel an awful sort of dizzying heat everywhere as he releases the gas pedal and rolls to a stop on the shoulder. 

The first things that comes to mind are both his dad and Blaine. It takes a special sort of screwing up for this, but Kurt’s managed to let them both down in the span of a single hour.

A few knocks on the window, and Kurt rolls it down to get the full view of the officer looking down at him, even parts confusion and pity. Surely, he wasn’t expecting to see someone like Kurt behind the wheel of his father’s F150.

“Jesus, you must be what, sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” Kurt manages, genuinely shocked his voice doesn’t crack

“License and registration.” Kurt pulls the required documentation out of the glove compartment and swiftly hands it to him, fully expecting the officer to take it back to his vehicle to look him up. Instead, the man just sighs. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Kurt swallows, not meeting the adult’s gaze, and gives a microscopic shake of his head.

“Your left taillight is out.”

Relief should be flooding Kurt’s system, but the only thing that comes in to replace his dread is guilt. 

He’s going to be sick.

“I-I-I didn’t,” he tries to get out, but the words are too thick and the air too thin as the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on him—of how badly this _could_ have ended. His pulse pulses hot behind his eyes, threatening to force tears out. “Didn’t know,” he finally manages, chest heaving like he’s just scaled a mountain. 

“Look, kid, you can calm down. Just, next time you wanna take your dad’s truck out for a midnight joyride, make sure that taillight is fixed.”

The cop lets him off with a warning and drives off, but Kurt stays in the darkness for a moment or two, off the shoulder of the road. Once he finally forces himself to draw in a shivering breath, the dam is broken, and he collapses his forehead against the steering wheel, piteous sobs coming in short, sporadic bursts. He cries so hard that each lungful of air feels like fire burning along his throat.

What the _hell_ was he thinking? 

Kurt knows, though, that he wasn’t _thinking_ at all. Only wanting.

Wanting to have some sense of normalcy, if it even still existed out there. He wanted his friends, his hometown, a taste of the feeling of belonging he’d grown accustomed to, something to remind him of who he really was. He wanted it all so bad, ached for it so desperately, that he nearly forgot that sometimes _wanting_ isn’t enough—it rarely is. 

This was exactly the wake-up call he needed. His life as Kurt Hummel is over now. This is his new normal, and he’d fought it so hard that he really risked his dad’s life. 

He can’t ever, _ever_ let himself go this far again.

Finally, after his pity party has hit his self-imposed time limit, Kurt shifts the gears, turns the car around, and doesn’t stop shaking the entire ride home.

* * *

_Lima, OH—7 Years Ago_

Quinn is neatly filing away her textbooks in her locker when Blaine comes sprinting up to her. 

“It happened again,” he exclaims. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he takes it as a cue to continue. “I sent him a message and someone started typing back, it _has_ to be him!”

“Blaine,” she begins carefully. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly.”

He nods. “Of course. We’re always honest with each other.”

“Okay… Do you _really_ believe that Kurt is alive?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “With every fiber of my being.”

“I was worried you’d say that,” she sighs. She smiles nervously at him. “I talked to Miss Pillsbury to set up some grief counseling for you. I don’t know if she’s particularly qualified for it, but she’s all we have and... B. I’m worried about you.”

His face falls, and he takes a step away from her, releasing her hand. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you’re hurting. And you’re trying to make sense of some unimaginable pain.”

“You said you _believed_ me,” he says through gritted teeth, tears pooling in his eyes. 

“I didn’t want to upset you. But I also can’t feed into this fantasy. It’s—it’s not healthy and I love you too much to let it keep going. I hate seeing you like this! It’s breaking my heart.”

“My best friend _died,”_ he snaps. “How the fuck do you think I feel?”

“I know it’s hard, B,” she tries again. “I went through the wringer last year and I had to learn to let go of a lot of things. I know it’s not the same—”

“You’re right,” he snarls. “It’s not the same. Losing someone you love is a hell of a lot different than getting yourself knocked up by the first guy to buy you wine coolers like some cheap whore.”

She jerks her head back, mouth open and eyes starting to shine with tears, like a dog she’s known for years just tried to take a chunk out of her hand.

He knows how low of a blow it is. After she’d gotten kicked out of her house last year, Blaine had opened up his home to her. She’d confided in him about all the shame and guilt she felt, and now, he’d gone and thrown it all back in her face.

At first, a wave of guilt crashes over him, but he pushes it deep down until it morphs into anger. She’s the one who betrayed this friendship, taking something he’d told her privately and waving it in front of the guidance counselor like it's a giant red flag. 

She wrinkles up her nose into a mini snarl, a face that means she’s really trying to cover up all her hurt. But he’s right, and he _knows_ he is, so he can’t bring himself to back down and apologize. 

It’s not _fair._ She said she believed him.

“We all lost him, too. We’re all suffering, too,” she starts, the sob bubbling up in her throat audibly. “I know you’re grieving, but that’s no excuse to treat your friends like shit.”

“Good thing we aren’t friends, then,” Blaine says harshly before turning around and leaving her behind. He wipes at his eyes and nose, trying to hide the evidence of his tears. Someone out there has to believe him. Isn’t there anyone who would believe him?

The gaping hole in his heart widens as he realizes the one person who would is the one person he can’t reach right now. Kurt is out there somewhere, and he’d know exactly what to do, but Blaine has no way of getting to him.

All he hears behind him is the slam of a locker and Quinn’s frustrated grunt that turns into sobs all too quickly.

It’s the last time he ever speaks to her.

* * *

_Ashland, MO—7 Years Ago_

It’s nearly three in the morning by the time Kurt makes it back to the house in Ashland. He slips in as quietly as he can, only to hear his dad’s gruff voice greet him as soon as he shuts the door behind him.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” Burt demands.

Kurt flinches, knowing he deserves everything coming his way and that lying about it won’t make it any better. With an audible gulp, he faces his dad. “I went to Lima,” he confesses.

“You… You went back to Lima!?” he shouts, anger growing in sync with every decibel. “Alone?”

“No, I-I started going but I got stopped by a cop.” Burt stands in stunned silence for a moment. “By the way, you’ve got a busted taillight on the truck.”

And then he explodes. “What the _hell,_ Kurt!? You could have been killed! Do you get that these people don’t want me to testify? They can come after me all they want but if they got to you, I… I don’t know what the hell I’d do.”

It’s the ugliest feeling in the world, knowing he’s disappointed his dad, so that’s all it takes for Kurt to burst out into pathetic tears. “I know,” he croaks out, crossing his arms across his torso to try and make himself smaller. His innards are buzzing, every feeling of stress and unease that had been lying dormant since he’d been pulled over suddenly coursing through his entire body. “I know. It was dangerous and stupid and reckless and I only got about an hour away before I realized all of that and I’m so, _so_ sorry, dad. I promise it’ll never happen again and I will be the picture of a perfect WITSEC participant from now on, but I just… I missed them all so much.”

After all the blubbering Kurt just did, all Burt can do is reel his mess of a son in for a hug. Kurt drops his head down into Burt’s chest, shaking uncontrollably with sobbed out apologies. 

After that, Kurt keeps his promise and leans into his role as James Bingham. Putting his father in danger like that once was more than enough, so he smiles when people call him by his WITSEC name, does fine in school, and represses every hope he had of ever returning to the life he knew.

dead people can't deactivate a facebook account, so Kurt changes his Facebook password. When it prompts him to enter a new one, he presses random letters and numbers on the keyboard—a secret to even himself—so he can never be tempted to login again.

* * *

_New York, NY—Present Day_

“So what have you been up to?” Blaine asks.

Kurt blinks back up at him in surprise. 

Blaine has spent the past hour or so filling him in on all the past dramas and current whereabouts of the new Directions. Santana and Brittany have been married going on two years and now live in Brooklyn. Mercedes is in L.A., recording her third solo album. So is Artie, directing a few independent projects. Rachel opened a revival of Funny Girl a few years back and is now on an american tour of an off-broadway show for a few more weeks. Finn is back in Lima, co-directing the New Directions with Mr. Schue, helping out whenever their old director needs to head back to Washington to advocate on behalf of the Lima School District. Mike and Tina are getting married in the coming summer; they travel around as he tours with some dance company that Tina now manages.

Blaine had brought up that some guy named Sam was thinking about coming back to New York for a spell, but Kurt had only furrowed his brows together in confusion. Apparently, he’d joined the New Directions shortly after Kurt moved and was one of Blaine’s closest friends.

They all have reunions pretty regularly, where those who can make it usually do.

Kurt is happy for his friends, he truly is. They did it. They reached for the stars, followed their dreams, got their happy ending—every cheesy hallmark movie ending he could imagine. They got it.

Yet, he can’t help the sense of inadequacy that comes with it. Here all his former friends are, living out their dreams, and Kurt is still eons behind them only now just getting started. It feels a little pitiful to admit.

“I’ve been working a few jobs. I wait tables at this one restaurant, deliver pizzas on days when I don’t have to do that. I was working as a retail salesman at a department store a few weeks ago, but they had to lay off a few people and…” he gives a meek shrug. “Last ones in, first ones out.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Kurt laughs bitterly. If he doesn’t laugh at his awful luck, he’ll certainly cry about it. “You don’t even know the half of it. I’m being evicted, too, thanks to my idiot of a roommate.”

Blaine snaps his head up at Kurt, eyes wide and appalled. “What?”

Kurt waves a dismissive hand, even though the thought sends panic rising up again. “It’s fine. I’ve still got a few days to figure it out.”

“You should stay with me,” Blaine offers without missing a beat.

He stares back at Blaine in stunned silence. “What?”

Blaine just shrugs, still sure as ever. “Move in with me. My… old roommate moved out a couple of weeks ago.” 

Kurt wastes no time voicing his concerns. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” And it’s true. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea. He doesn’t do things like this anymore—just jump headfirst into decisions. The last time he did that he risked his father’s life. 

“Why not?”

Every connection back to Lima is an added risk to his father’s life. Someone could find out about them living together and word could get out somehow and the people he’s been avoiding for years could find a way to trace him back to Ashland. They don’t even know if they’d be compatible roommates. They have both probably changed so much over the course of the past years, who knows if they would even be friends. 

There are so many reasons this is a bad idea.

“Kurt,” Blaine’s soft, sincere voice brings him back to reality. “I… I never thought I’d have you in my life again. And now that I do, I don’t know if I can let go again.”

There are so, _so_ many reasons this is a bad idea.

Yet even after all these years, Kurt is still so utterly helpless against Blaine’s earnest gaze. It’s certainly one he’d let destroy him a thousand times over.

“Let’s do it.”


	3. Miss Simone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well uhhhhhh, oops! It's been a while since I've updated this story, I know, but writing has been a little difficult lately--not in a depressing way lol, in like a "my life is busy and my job is very fulfilling and I'm choosing to use my energy to keep up with friends instead of isolating myself" kind of way! 
> 
> Again, I am so sorry for not having a posting schedule for this (but will that stop me from starting other wips? not very likely lmao it's christmas bitches) but it'll get done, I swear by it! I think, too, just because it IS so different from anything else I've written/am writing, it's tricky to set things in stone and trust the decisions i'm making.
> 
> Woof aint nobody ask for all that bUT THERE IT IS! Anywhoooo, this is probably one of my favorite (if not THE favorite) song off the album, and so far, it's my favorite chapter, too!

**3\. Miss Simone**

_ Moving boxes cover the floor, never quite been here before _ _   
_ _ Finally made a house feel like home _ _. _ _   
_ [ _ x _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12XAqIl06Ag)

_ New York, NY—Present Day _

It’s shocking how quickly Kurt settles into a routine in his new life with Blaine. 

He works inconsistent hours while Blaine is busy at school, so days on end, they're ships in the night that keep passing the other by. Kurt comes home—either legs burning from pedaling all day or feet and back aching from waiting on tables for hours on end—and then proceeds to immediately pass out on the couch, too down-to-the-bone exhausted to even make it the last few feet to his new room. 

He usually wakes up a few hours later to trade the lumpy couch for his slightly less lumpy bed, but once after pulling a double shift he awoke bright and early the next morning, draped in one of Blaine’s plush and warm comforters. A supple smile had feathered itself on his face at the kind gesture, and he’d tugged it tighter around himself, inhaling the still lingering scent of Blaine. 

The smell of the raspberry gel Blaine still uses journeys into his nose, down all the way into his chest, striking a soft, almost nostalgic comfort Kurt didn’t think he was capable of feeling anymore. 

Then again, Kurt had given up on so much before coming to New York. Before finding Blaine again.

Blaine is busier with school than most semesters. His piano proficiency exam—a school career defining exam for music majors—has been scheduled for late October. When Kurt asks why Blaine doesn’t just test out of the piano classes since he’s been playing for longer than Kurt can remember, Blaine explains that he needs the easy A to keep him out of academic probation. He looks mildly embarrassed at the admission, so Kurt doesn't press on why Blaine, a nototiously perfect student, would be worried about academic probation.

With both of their schedules jam packed, the days where they barely interact are more numerous than Kurt would like.

But then there are the wonderful, beautiful,  _ glorious  _ days where Kurt works the morning shift then picks up a cheap bottle of wine for them to split, so unceremoniously sweeping through the front door with takeout from the chinese restaurant three blocks down. They switch on the TV to some trashy TLC show like 90 Day Fiance, exchanging commentary that ranges from relevant to the “plot” to just straight up dogging the idiots featured on the show.

“That jacket is a crime against humanity,” Kurt grumbles, pointing out the reality TV star’s atrocious outfit. “Who on  _ earth  _ needs that many pockets?” he shouts at the program, using chopsticks to pop a chicken dumpling into his mouth. “What are you keeping in there!?”

“Secrets,” Blaine deadpans.

Kurt bursts out laughing so hard that he nearly spits out his food. “Blaine! You’re going to make me choke!”

“Serves you right for talking with your mouth full, heathen.”

Kurt wrinkles his nose up at Blaine before lunging at him. Armed with a dumpling between chopsticks, he pins Blaine down to the couch, and shoves it in his face. Blaine practically squeals as he brings his arms up to shield Kurt’s admittedly childish attack. 

“Open up, Anderson!”

“I’ve already had one too many of those!”

“You brought this on yourself,” Kurt cries gleefully. 

Fingers suddenly digging into his sides make him gasp before he throws his head back with uncontrollable laughter. He certainly was not expecting Blaine to retaliate by  _ tickling _ him.

Suddenly, he has the upper hand and their positions are switched, Kurt writhing helplessly underneath Blaine’s weight.

“Uncle, _ uncle!” _

Blaine gives in and Kurt tosses his head down towards his chest as he comes down from his fit of giggles with a long and high sigh. “Leave it to you to make me revert back to my sixteen year old self.” He’s aiming for a grumble, but his voice is still shimmery with the last remnants of his laughter.

Kurt lifts his head again and is utterly disarmed by Blaine’s fond expression gazing down at him. He sucks in a breath and wills his heart to either stop racing or somehow beat quieter in his chest, with no success on either of those propositions.

He clears his throat, shifts his body back up, reaches for the remote to play the show again and hopes he’s not being too obvious.

Kurt takes it all back. It’s not surprising at all how quickly Blaine becomes a staple in his life. In fact, it makes perfect sense.

The only other person who means this much to him—the only person he  _ lets  _ mean this much to him—is his dad. Kurt can’t remember the last time he held onto something this tightly. Since the move to Ashland, there wasn’t much worth holding onto.

What he needs, if he wants to protect himself, is to distance himself from Blaine. He’s become addicted to the idea that the two of them could have a life here together, as something more than friends. Images of Blaine walking through the front door, lighting up when he sees Kurt, the memory of his warm body pressed up against his when they cuddle on his couch, the feel of his calloused fingers gently stroking Kurt’s arm—it’s all so overwhelmingly intoxicating. 

By now, Kurt is too drunk on these heady fantasies to do anything about it. He should have never come back with Blaine to his apartment that day they met in the coffee shop. He should have run when he had the chance, but every time Blaine looks up at him with his beautiful and earnest almond eyes, his heart can’t stand the thought of another day without him.

The fact that Blaine has so quickly become someone Kurt can’t see himself living without—has become something that will break Kurt like a promise if he loses it—even after the better half of a decade apart isn’t shocking at all. 

It’s just downright terrifying.

* * *

_ Ashland, MO—6 Years Ago _

Kurt hasn’t sung in about a year. He doesn’t think he ever will again, if he’s being completely honest with himself. Once, his head had been crowded with lofty dreams about chasing stardom on the broadway stages in New York, of late nights and tech rehearsals and everything that came with doing the one thing he loved more than anything else. 

Of course, that was all before his entire world got turned upside down.

His new school doesn’t even have a show choir, only an underfunded marching band with no vacancies and two out of tune sousaphones—not that Kurt would even want to fill one. 

At school, Kurt keeps mostly to himself; he can’t bring himself to reach out to his peers and make new friendships when he knows he’ll have to hide almost everything about himself and his past. According to their case manager, he’s not even allowed to talk about his mom.

He never liked Lima much, but it’s only now that he realizes how much of himself was rooted there.

So he delves deeper into the world of fashion, the one thing they can never take from him. He sketches in the hallways in between classes, on the margins of notebook paper, even sometimes on the back of tests since he’s usually the first one to finish. Every line and curve he pushes and pulls with his pencil gives him back some of the safety and security he lost after being ousted from Lima. Designing gives him the structure he so desperately craves after having everything he’s ever known snatched out from underneath him. 

It’s the only thing left that’s really him.

When he draws, he’s in control. He’s still Kurt Hummel.

A boy slightly taller than him looks over his shoulder at the end of American History one day. “Cute dress,” he says, words dotted by the smacking of his chewing gum. The discreet wink he gives Kurt as he heads to his next class leaves him blushing.

The first kiss they share out behind the dumpster of the gay bar on the outskirts of town is far from romantic, but they learn a lot from each other. A few weeks later in the backseat of his car, the boy cries out Kurt’s given WITSEC name as they come after rutting aimlessly against each other for a few minutes. 

Kurt just cries.

He’d always thought his first time would be special—not some meaningless hookup brought on by the boredom of winter break and the cheap tequila that made him too loose, too warm... too optimistic.

To Kurt’s absolute mortification, his dad finds a box of condoms in his room and gives him a very uncomfortable “you matter” speech that he eventually comes to appreciate. 

He doesn’t break it off with the boy; there’s not really anything to break. They get what they need from each other every once in a while and go on with their lives. None of it means anything, even if Kurt wishes it did. He doesn’t have feelings for the other boy, but he wishes he did. He wishes so dearly that he felt fire underneath his fingertips whenever he gripped onto his back for balance, wishes the twisting in his stomach was something deeper than purely physical, wishes he felt the desire to stay and have a heart to heart after they come down from their post orgasm highs. 

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. This is Ashland middle of fucking nowhere Missouri. This is Kurt Hummel’s life.

Scratch that, it’s James Bingham’s.

Kurt Hummel died a long time ago.

* * *

_ New York, NY—Present Day _

Blaine takes any chance he gets to fill Kurt in on what he’s missed these past few years. Sometimes they’ll be in the middle of reminiscing about their childhoods and Blaine will make some commentary about it, forgetting that Kurt lacks the context necessary to get the reference.

This time, Kurt brings up how the one thing he didn’t miss about McKinley was its nasty tradition of slushying those on the bottom of the social totem pole. He mentions how at least in Ashland, he was just left alone. He wasn’t actively ostracized, but he has a feeling that if he made any attempts to socialize, he would have been turned away.

“It was like being bitch-slapped by an iceberg,” Kurt recalls with a snort. “Courtesy of Dave Karofsky.”

“And we gays were supposed to stick together!” Blaine laughs.

Kurt freezes in the middle of lifting his fork to his mouth. “What?”

“Dave is uh, he’s gay,” Blaine says, realizing that this is a detail Kurt doesn’t quite know yet. It’s hard for him to keep track of what he has and hasn’t already told Kurt. Every day, Blaine forgets just a little that Kurt hasn’t been with him the last seven years. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “It was a few weeks after you… left, actually. I… I wasn’t in a very good place, emotionally, and I couldn’t take anymore of his insults or shoulder checks. So I confronted him about it and… he kissed me.”

Kurt’s fork clatters against the table. “Holy shit. Can’t say I saw that coming,” he mutters.

“That makes both of us… The bullying got worse after that. So bad I had to transfer to a private zero tolerance policy school for most of my Junior year. That’s where I met…” he stops himself, wondering why it’s so strange for him to talk about this with Kurt. “It’s where I met my first boyfriend, actually.”

“Oh,” is all Kurt says, face unreadable. “That’s um, certainly a silver lining.”

Blaine swallows and gives a tight lipped smile. He has yet to tell Kurt about Sebastian. Not everything. He doesn’t even really know why he hasn't told him yet. It’s not like they’re together. Or that Kurt is even interested in him, as far as he knows.

Little things like this serve as a reminder to Blaine of just how recently he and Kurt have reconnected.

Some days, it’s like he never left.

* * *

_ Ashland, MO—6 Years Ago _

With a labored sigh, Kurt slides his messenger bag off his shoulders and sets it on the floor by the front door. He walks past the kitchen and drops some pamphlets he picked up at the college fair on the table before raiding the fridge for something to quench his thirst, not noticing his dad sitting there until he turns around and nearly drops his glass of orange juice. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” he says breathlessly.

His dad is rifling through the pamphlets, fanning them out as he gives each the once over. “Where’d ya get these?”

Kurt plops down on the adjacent chair and shrugs. “College day at school. They made us take at least five pamphlets with us before we were allowed to go home.”

Burt fans through them, stopping at the one that makes Kurt’s heart jump right out of his chest. “NYU?” he asks.

He freezes for a second. “Like I said, they made us pick five.”

Every second his dad is quiet only makes Kurt’s pulse pound harder in his ears.

Finally, he says something. “You turn eighteen in May,” he begins. “I think you should know that once that day comes, you can leave whenever you want.” 

Kurt’s heart soars. 

He can leave. He can  _ leave. _

It seems too good to be true, and once his dad keeps talking, Kurt realizes it is.

“But it means you and I would have to all but cut ties.”

His throat goes so hard so fast. 

His dad is the only person he has left in this cold and cruel world. They don’t always see eye to eye, but when it counts, his dad is there for him. His dad loves him. 

And his only chance at freedom is giving that up.

“Now, I’m not trying to discourage you or anything, you know I would never do that... but I just think… you should know exactly what you’re signing up for,” Burt says slowly, carefully. “I thought that uh, leaving, might be something you wanted, so I looked into it. You’d get to call me twice a year, through a line that’s monitored by the FBI. Visits only every few years under strict supervision, or if I get sick like I did last year or I’m about to… you know.”

Forget talk about his father falling ill,  _ Kurt _ is going to be sick. “Don’t,” he chokes out breathlessly. “I don’t even want to think about you like that again.” 

His dad’s heart attack had been one of the scariest things Kurt's ever lived through. On top of going through all of it alone, he had to deal with being thrown from one clinical office building to another. CPS had taken him into custody at first, but after a few days in a halfway house, he’d managed to get relocated by the FBI to a safehouse—a motel where he was being watched like a hawk and not allowed to leave under any circumstances. Meanwhile, his dad’s hospital room was guarded by several agents at all hours.

It was terrible and lonely and awful.

“I know,” Burt responds. “I know that was scary for you. And I’ve been taking better care of myself but… I just want you to know the reality of the situation.”

It’s with a heavy heart that Kurt realizes the correct path for himself.

The rest of the world—the real world—is still out there waiting for him. It always will be.

Images of a city that doesn’t have a 9pm curfew, where businesses are open on Sundays, and the nearest grocery store wasn’t a half hour drive away pull at him with everything they’ve got. He envisions a place where the only other gay kid in town isn’t ashamed to make eye contact with him in the hallway but more than happy to get Kurt off in the bathroom during passing periods. He imagines a life as a successful fashion designer or journalist, coming home to someone who makes every breath feel like electricity, and makes every second worth living.

But then he looks at his dad.

And he looks around their barren house—not their home. This will never be home.

After the incident last year, Burt had suggested they go to the local hobby lobby to find things to “liven up the place,” as if that would fill the gaping hole in Kurt’s life.

There’s an impressionism-esque painting of a few ballerinas dancing in a garden that had reminded Kurt of the ballet lessons he’d taken as a child, a few potted plants that neither of them ever remembered to water so were eventually replaced by fake plants, and some sheer, shimmery curtains for the big window by the front door.

But it’s all superficial. Just a slapped on coat of paint over a crumbling structure that never had a solid foundation to begin with.

There’s no life in this house—he and his dad are the only creatures that animate it. One final glance around this barren, hollow house lets Kurt know he can never leave his dad alone in this wasteland.

But he can never tell his dad any of that. 

His dad won’t clip his wings, won’t ever let himself be the reason Kurt doesn’t pursue his dreams. Kurt has to do that himself.

He paints on what he hopes is a convincing smile and plucks a different pamphlet from his dad’s hands, showing him the front cover.

“Missouri State has a  _ great _ Fashion Merchandising program.”

* * *

_ New York, NY—Present Day _

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Kurt asks. 

Blaine had come home with the exciting news of receiving the highest grade in the class for his music history listening exam. Kurt honestly isn’t that surprised; Blaine has always had a really great ear, for both music and listening.

Kurt asked him what he wanted to do In lieu of celebration, and instead of choosing to go to a bar or restaurant like any normal person would, he just said, “Spend time with you.” Kurt’s not sure if it’s the words or the way Blaine said them, coated in pure adoration, that sent his stomach swooping.

Again, because Blaine can’t do anything normally, he also dragged Kurt into a taxi and brought them to an abandoned building about thirty minutes outside of the city. He’d only been allowed to open his eyes to climb the fire escape up onto the rooftop, and once they were there, Blaine promptly made Kurt shut them again.

“Lie down.”

“What? Blaine, this is a Marc Jacobs limited collection sweater, I am  _ not  _ going to lie down on some dirty rooftop.”

He hears Blaine’s chuckle, and his heart skips a beat. “I have a blanket, don’t worry.”

With a huff, he agrees and joins Blaine on the ground.

“Open your eyes.”

Kurt does, and he can’t help the gasp that escapes his lips at the sight. 

Little white lights perforate the night sky ahead of him, twinkling like diamonds breaking through the fading haze of the city lights.

Ashland hadn’t been a metropolitan area by any means, but the surrounding factory lights and the smog that came with them definitely dimmed the stars enough to fit in with the overall depressing atmosphere of the town.

“This is where I come when I’m feeling overwhelmed,” Blaine admits. “I came here the first time I failed a class at NYADA. Then again when I got kicked out—cut, as they call it.”

Kurt takes a moment to formulate a response. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Of course. A special place for a special person.”

He feels a little thrill run through him at that, but tries to brush it off as hard as he holds back his smile. “I’m sure that’s what you say to all your roommates.”

“No, I don’t. I… you’re the only person I’ve ever brought here.” He goes quiet for a moment. “Speaking of roommates. The uh, the last one I had… He wasn’t just my roommate,” Blaine confesses. Kurt turns his head, brow slightly creased. “He was my boyfriend... on and off for about six years.” 

Kurt feels something too close to dread pool up in his stomach.

“Around my second year in NYADA, we moved in together and started fighting a lot. More than usual. It got so bad that Santana moved out. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused on my studies and then he… We broke up. Again, not for the first time. There were definitely times before that where… our fights would get so ugly that one of us would walk out, and we wouldn’t speak for weeks on end. I-I was too terrified to talk about what was going on with us. Don’t even know if those counted as breakups. 

“A week after this one though, I got cut from NYADA. I moved back to Lima, come fall, and that’s where Rachel did her Junior year work-study. 

“You know how I mentioned that the New Directions had disbanded at one point, right?” Kurt nods. Although he only spent a year with them, they left a mark on his heart, and it had been hard to hear. “Well, Rachel and I took it upon ourselves to try and revive it that semester. Finn helped when he could, but he was pretty busy getting his teaching degree at LiCo. 

“A part of me wished that Sebastian had come to get me, but… he just stayed here in New York… At the end of the semester, Rachel was coming back to New York, and I planned to stay in Lima to continue to help Finn and Mr. Schue with the new New Directions.” 

A smile tugs at Kurt’s lips because of  _ course _ Blaine would stay to help.

“But she managed to convince me that my place was in New York. So I came back. Sebastian apologized, and we wound up together again.”

There’s that uncomfortable tug in Kurt’s gut again, the same one he felt the other day when Blaine brought up his first boyfriend.

“But he moved to LA to pursue some TV show role a couple of months ago.”

After a few seconds of silence, Kurt decides it’s finally time to respond. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t at the time. It really, really sucked and I was a mess, but… it is what it is.”

Kurt knows that Blaine isn’t his to feel jealous over, but he still can’t stop the churning in his gut at the thought of someone else with him.

“But I’ve been thinking and… Rachel’s been on tour for the past few months and Sebastian left, so I’d been wondering for a long time why the hell I had even come back to New York.” Blaine turns to face him and slips his fingers between Kurt’s, the emotion in his eyes visible though only illuminated by the ambient moonlight. “I think you’re that reason.”

Kurt swallows back the newly formed lump in his throat. “You make me glad I left Ashland, too.” He tentatively pulls on Blaine’s hand before moving to rest his head on Blaine’s chest. They lie in easy silence for several minutes, Kurt just enjoying that solidity and realness of Blaine. Something he didn’t think he’d ever get back. 

“Show me your favorite constellation,” he eventually requests.

With a smile almost as bright as the stars they’re gazing, Blaine grabs his hand, aiming it towards the sky. “Close your right eye and point your index finger. Do you see that cluster of stars, the one with the really bright star in the center?” Kurt confirms that he does, and Blaine moves to trace out the shape of the constellation, starting his way at the top corner and working his way down the almost fish-like shape. “That’s Lyra. Greek for Lyre.”

The smile on Kurt’s face is automatic. “Of course it’s music related. Tell me more.”

“Well, it’s a lyre. Specifically, Orpheus’s.”

“Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“He’s a mythical musician and poet, but he’s mostly known for the Greek myth with his wife, Eurydice. At their wedding, she was trying to escape a satyr and fell into a nest of vipers and died. When Orpheus found her body, he was so shaken that he began to play music so powerful that it moved even the gods. The gods felt pity for him and sent him to the underworld to try and find Eurydice. 

“Once he reached the underworld, he played his song again for Hades and Persephone. They, too, were moved and agreed to let Eurydice return to the land of the living on one condition: Orpheus should walk in front of her and not look back until they both had reached the upper world.

“Now, Orpheus thought this would be an easy task, but as they walked on, he realized he couldn’t hear her footsteps behind him. This was because she presumably was a shadow figure, not living yet. Still, the two of them continued. Only a few feet from the exit, Orpheus, unable to see or hear his beloved Eurydice, lost faith in their journey. He turned around, only to see her fading from his sight, trapped in hades forever now.”

Kurt sniffs and wipes at his eyes. He always was a sucker for a good story. “That’s awful.”

“I think it’s awful and beautiful all at once.”

“How do you know all this stuff, anyways?”

Blaine snorts. “I had to take an astronomy class last semester. I chose a music career, and someone thought that learning about space fit in that degree. Sometimes I think college is a scam.”

“Oh, college is one hundred percent a scam. My degree is in fashion and I had to take a geology class. So I guess next time we can head down to the coal mines and I can tell you all about the sedimentary rocks we find there.”

While Blaine is busy laughing, Kurt comes to a startling revelation. 

“Oh, my god. This is a movie.”

“What?”

“There’s a scene like this. In a movie, they’re looking at constellations, uh,” he snaps his fingers, hoping it’ll come to him, “it’s got John Cusack in it. British girl.”

Blaine’s eyebrows raise in excitement and recognition. “Oh, yes! Sentiment—serenity—ser… Serendipity!”

“Serendipity!” Kurt exclaims, letting a breath out. “What does that word mean again?”

“It basically boils down to happy accidents.”

“Like meeting you again,” Kurt says before he can stop himself. “A very fortunate stroke of serendipity.”

Blaine’s eyes dart all around Kurt’s face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “No,” he breathes. “Something that amazing isn’t random. It’s written in the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ten points to whoever can spot the Taylor Swift reference akjdgaskhdgsk
> 
> ALSO I FOGROT TO SAY!! Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments on the first two chapters! I seriously appreciate it so much, as I said, the response to this story is more than I expected--especially considering my posting of it is a fucking mess lmaooo SO THANK YALL SO MUCH!!
> 
> Until next time!


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